Khushwant Singh: India's most recognised byline

Regardless of how history judges the irascible sardar, millions of KS (not to be confused with a condom bearing the same initials, even if it's a great fit) fans will confirm his reputation as India's most recognised byline.

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Shobhaa De

December 26, 2005

ISSUE DATE: December 26, 2005

UPDATED: May 1, 2012 15:06 IST

The best thing I can say about Khushwant is I'm glad I'm not dead yet. What he writes about the living (old associates and friends included) is bad enough. But what he has to say about the dead is... is... delicious!

Regardless of how history judges the irascible sardar, millions of KS (not to be confused with a condom bearing the same initials, even if it's a great fit) fans will confirm his reputation as India's most recognised byline.

In terms of sheer productivity, he has no equal.To call him a word machine would be to reduce his writing to a numbers game. The amazing thing about Khushwant is not how much he writes on a daily basis, but what he manages to communicate. He has an opinion on everything, and it hardly matters if he gets his facts scrambled in the bargain. Readers want to know what KS thinks. That is one compliment writers across the world crave.

BIO

Born in Punjab in 1915His first novel, Train to Pakistan, won the Grove Press AwardHe gave up his Padma Vibhushan after Operation Bluestar"If I find a woman attractive,I say so.I don't see men as sex objects for sure."

January 21, 1983

Did you Know?

Khushwant's first published work (in England) was an account of his own funeral.8 p.m. is the time all his guests are told to leave

Khushwant has successfully held centrestage as a columnist for over 35 years. Brand Khushwant has shrewdly been built on an interesting masalamix: take a fistful of schoolboy sex, add truck-driver humour, lace it with juicy gossip and finish it off with a borrowed sher or two.Voila. Instant Khushwant.

Some may call him a penis-obsessed dirty old man, but wait a minute. Show me one guy who does not spend a disproportionate amount of time either thinking about his private parts or playing with them. Khushwant was just more upfront about this preoccupation - and realised his "nanga" approach worked.

He even began to boast about his fixations, giving readers the impression that he was a Casanova whose life was filled with big-bosomed harem girls, pouring large pegs of scotch down his thirsty gullet between energetic romps in bed. For all his posturing, Khushwant remains a lamb - not the roaring lion (loin?) in heat he projects for public consumption.

The scholar was given a decent funeral decades ago. As a writer of fiction, his only worthy contribution remains Train to Pakistan. At the end of his innings, what readers will remember is his irreverent attitude. And shall we just forget that embarrassing chamcha (sycophant) phase, where he sounded like Mrs Gandhi's worshipful chaprasi (servant)?

More than any other columnist, Khushwant managed to speak the language of the masses, even if he belonged to the elite corps himself, and brazenly revelled in his lineage. Let readers continue to believe all those tall tales about his insatiable libido. Let them think Khushwant was an untamed tiger in many beds. The truth, alas, is less alluring: he was, and remains, a diligent wordsmith who showed us all what hypocrites and bores we really are.

(The writer is a well-known novelist.)

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